


Tuxedo Junctions

by starhawk2005



Category: House M.D.
Genre: F/M, Het, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-28
Updated: 2012-08-28
Packaged: 2017-11-13 02:03:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/498228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starhawk2005/pseuds/starhawk2005
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>House hates hospital fund-raisers. Cameron tries to help him enjoy himself anyways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tuxedo Junctions

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: Thanks and naked!Houses to katakombs.  
> Author’s Notes: Written in response to the first Ficathon at the House/Cameron Smut-A-Thon comm.

Hell, no, I won’t go!” House chanted, much to Cuddy’s annoyance.

“You’ll go. PPTH needs this money. And as the person who lost us Ed Vogler’s support, I think you owe it to the hospital to go. With a _minimum_ of complaint.”

“Do you, now?” House snarked. “Maybe you should’ve kept Eddie, then. Since you apparently have such fond memories of him. In fact, why don’t you go and get him _back_? A flash of your rack in that frilly low-cut confection some call a blouse, and I’m sure he’ll be throwing money at you.” He ended this pronouncement with a leer, for good measure.

Cuddy didn’t rise to the bait. “Cameron’s going,” she prodded, her voice softer.

“Unless we’re doing some kind of staff auction where she and other hot doctor-ettes on staff come out on a catwalk wearing nothing but Victoria’s Secret underthings, I fail to see why I should care,” he retorted, but turned to face the window, hiding his expression from her. 

A sigh from behind him. “Just _go_ , House. I’ll even let you off two hours of clinic duty.”

He swiveled back to face her. “A _week_ off.”

“Half a day,” she parried.

“Three days.”

“One,” she counter-offered.

“Deal,” House said flatly, then got out of his chair and limped past her.

 

*~*~*

Later at home, he considered the matter. At least, he’d get to see Allison in another low-cut dress. Forest green this time, not red, but he liked it. It brought out the colour of her eyes. He even got to watch her get dressed in it.

But he still complained. It was ‘tradition’, after all. 

“Do we _have_ to, Mommy?” he whined, secretly admiring the view. Allison was bent over, tempting ass in the air and clad only in black lace panties, as she pulled on some black stay-up stockings.

“Yes,” she sighed impatiently. “Can’t you do something unexpected for once? Like, oh, I don’t know, _not_ complain? It’s not going to make the evening go any faster.”

“Why?” He asked, leaning back against the pillows on his sleigh bed and watching her start on stocking number two. “Aren’t I cute when I whine?”

“Not in the slightest,” Allison grumbled, straightening up and going to pick her dress up off the chair.

House got slowly up, then limped over and caught her arm. “This is all wrong,” he said, leering at her. “We’re together, in my bedroom. Clothes should be coming _off_. Are we in some kind of reverse warp bubble?”

“That’s the last time we watch a Star Trek Marathon on the Sci-Fi channel. If you attempt another so-called ‘mind meld’…”

He tried to pull her in for a kiss, but she ducked away. . “Maybe, if you go and put your tux on, you’ll get some of this _tonight_ ,” she said, and wiggled her butt at him for emphasis.

Giving his best impression of a long-suffering sigh, House hobbled back over to the bed, disdainfully fingering the bow-tie of the tux laid across the foot. “Fine, but I’d better get oral sex. Lots of it. Or next fund-raiser, _you’re_ wearing the damned tuxedo. Sans pants. And with those black lacy stay-ups of yours.”

 

*~*~*

Ah, poker, his favourite game. He’d cleaned Cuddy, Wilson, Allison, and two other unnamed (well, named, but he didn’t care to recall their actual names) twice already. Too bad he’d have to surrender his winnings at the door.

Looking at Allison, he wondered impulsively if he could raise the entertainment value even further for himself. Gripping the silver handle of his dress cane (he liked to think of it privately as the ‘pimp’ cane), he slid it carefully under the table. He was taking a risk – if his aim was wrong, Cuddy would be slapping him. Or Wilson would think House was angling to be ‘wife’ number four. But it was worth the risk. His little act of rebellion for being forced into this.

When Allison jumped a little in her seat, he knew he’d hit pay dirt. He let the tip of the cane slide slowly forward, presumably up her leg, and grinned at her, letting the cigar wiggle obscenely in his mouth. _Challenging_ her.

She glanced at the rest of their colleagues at the table, but no one seemed to have noticed her shocked reaction. House pushed the cane forward a little further, sliding the cool wood against her. He didn’t know if the cane was caressing along the outside or inside of her leg – and even _he_ wasn’t daring enough to look under the tablecloth and check – but from her reaction, he was at least certain he wasn’t coming onto a chair-leg or anything.

He finally pulled back the cane, smirking, when it came his turn to call.

House got a shock about ten minutes later, however. 

A foot, slender and warm, was sliding up his ankle. God, please let that be Allison. He looked up from his fan of cards, to see her staring at him intensely, a tiny smirk playing around the corner of her mouth.

The little minx.

He was already twitching inside his dress pants, dammit. And he reacted even more strongly when that foot glided slowly up the calf of his leg.

House tried to pay attention to what was going on at the poker table around him, but he didn’t stand a chance. Especially when Allison calmly fished the lime wedge out of her drink and sucked the alcohol from it. Her eyes locked on his the whole time. Even while she slowly licked excess juice from her lips. Lord Almighty. He lost that hand, no surprise there.

He did his best to get back at her, making a few suggestive eyebrow-raises while he ran a slow, caressing finger around the rim of his whiskey tumbler a few times. All while everyone else was too busy studying their cards in desperation to notice, of course.

House did manage to make her lose that hand, but his sense of victory was short-lived, because she proceeded to lazily lick the salt from the rim of her martini, all while stroking his foot under the table with stocking-clad toes (where’d her shoe go? he wondered).

He lost again. Time to make a strategic retreat. 

He waited until he could stand up without feeling that there was a huge red neon ERECTION IN PROGRESS sign hanging from his zipper, and then he excused himself. “Gotta go perform the other half of alcohol’s delivery system, kids. Be good while I’m gone. Don’t pick anyone up,” he added as an aside to Wilson.

He was halfway to the washroom when his keen ears detected the sound of footsteps following him. The clack of a certain woman’s heels. Maybe he _wouldn’t_ have to wait til they got home.

House turned, and there was the little minx in question, “Why, Dr. Cameron, you’ve followed me. Does that mean you want to help me _aim_?”

When she stepped right up to him and her hand groped along the rapidly re-awakening bulge in his pants, he got his answer. 

Glancing quickly around, he pulled her into a nearby patient lounge, locking the door behind them both. He offered up a brief prayer of thanks for the fact this was one room in the hospital that didn’t have glass walls. Just a window at the far end, blinds already shut. 

“Why, Dr. House! Whatever could we be doing here?” she asked, eyes alight.

“Well, you really seemed to be enjoying sucking off that lime. I thought I’d collect early, give you something _else_ to suck on.”

To his gleeful surprise, she immediately sat down on one of the couches, tugging him towards her. When she pulled his zipper down, not even bothering with the snap, he reflected that if tuxes had this effect on her, maybe he should go to more fund-raisers after all.

Slim fingers pushed his briefs aside and curled around him, pulling him free. He sighed and planted one foot and one cane-tip firmly, reaching out to stroke her tousled curls with his free hand.

A hot tongue caressed the underside of his shaft, and he had to bite off a moan. He looked down to watch – he _liked_ to watch – as she stroked her tongue up and down, her fingers now teasing his balls. Looking up at him, pausing to lick her lips, slow and sensual.

His thigh was throbbing, but it was a distant concern at the moment. He was too busy trying not to blow his damned wad, thank you very much for your concern.

She’d taken him into her mouth now, moving slowly back and forth, her hand wrapped tightly around the base. This was definitely worth losing his money in poker.

A few seemingly-short moments later, House knew he was going to come. He didn’t want to, not yet, so he pulled back, ignoring the surprised look on Allison’s face.

He looked around the room for an appropriate surface. There was a wooden table against the side-wall, and he caught Allison’s hand and pulled her up off the couch, herded her towards it.

He got her to seat herself on it, and then he dragged over one of the ugly-ass orange chairs. No wonder they hadn’t put glass walls around the eyesore that was this lounge. He plunked himself down, then drew the chair closer to her.

When he slipped his hands under the shiny green fabric of her dress, a knowing grin crossed her face. The skirt of the dress soon wound up unceremoniously around her waist, the black stay-ups he’d referred to earlier flung onto the opposite side of the table. He slowly peeled the black lace panties down her legs, leering at her the whole time. “The gift shop’s closed,” he purred in a low voice, “so I need to find something _else_ sweet to suck on. Oh look, there’s something now.”

He spread her legs wide, brushing his stubble over one soft span of thigh. He grinned at the way she immediately lay back on the table, moaning already. Pure evil in his intent, he went right to her drenched entrance, tasting her, wrapping large hands around her hips to hold her still.

He was never going to get tired of doing this. 

He lingered there, licking, sticking his tongue into her as far as he could. When she started to stroke her own clit, the visual made somehow even naughtier by those classy manicured nails she’d gotten done just for tonight, he watched for a few moments, before brushing her hand aside so he could toy with that special spot himself. So selfish, he was.

She arched against him, moaning more steadily now, as his tongue flicked repeatedly over her button. He slipped a finger inside her, just to feel her inner spasms every time his tongue made contact, and she writhed and made even louder sounds.

“More, please,” she whispered.

“What?” he smirked against her slickness.

“I want you- inside me- Greg,” she moaned, then sat up, propping herself on her elbows. “Stop being an asshole and pass me my evening bag.”

House eye-rolled at that – it was a ‘purse’, not a stupid ‘evening bag’ – but he wanted to get laid more than he wanted to get his snark on, so he limped back to the couch to retrieve it.

He returned and handed it to her, waiting for her to pull out the condom packet. He snatched it from her then, reading the text on the packet with a mixture of amusement and disdain: “Trojan, lubricated, ‘Her Pleasure’? Is that a dig about my sexual abilities, Allison?”

“Just shut up and get _on_ with it ,” she shot back at him, **“** Or do I have to go and play footsie with Chase if I want to get some action tonight?”

House gave a mock-snarl and tore the packet open, putting on the rubber. Then he grabbed Allison by the arm, tugging until she got off the table, dress falling back into place. “Just for that,” he whispered threateningly – or tried to – in her ear, “I’m going to personally see to it that you’ll be walking _bowlegged_ for the next few days.”

She snorted, even as he was turning her – a little roughly – to face the table. “Right. Like I haven’t heard _that_ before.” She let him push her forward until her waist was flush with the table edge, and she didn’t resist as he pushed her down until her torso and face was resting on the table, but she did look over her shoulder and smirk back at him.

“Fighting words, little girl,” he breathed, gathering her dress up and out of the way again. He braced a hand against each thigh, pushing them further apart, and then thrust hard inside her.

She gasped, but then started grinding back against him so fiercely that he didn’t have much time to wonder whether he’d hurt her with his over-eagerness. Apparently not.

He moved fast, thrusting hard inside her, too impatient to draw this out. And Allison pumped back against him, matching his every move, both of them gasping in synchrony.

House was going to come any second, and he wanted her right there with him. He reached around her hip, one hand working against her clit. Greedy, his other hand fought its way into the neckline of her dress and into her bra, squeezing a nipple hard.

Her reaction was immediate and almost violent, and he didn’t stand a chance against the increased ardor in her movements, gasping hard and spending himself into the condom. Luckily, she was right on the edge too, and as he started spasming inside her, she gave a final low moan and climaxed right after him, muscles milking the last few drops of pleasure from him.

After a brief pause, during which House tried to remember what it was like to breathe _slowly_ , he withdrew from her heat, tottering over to sink into the ugly-ass chair. He was still struggling to catch his breath, but when Allison came over and perched on the knee of his good leg, he forgot about breathing and tangled his hand in her hair instead, pulling her down for a kiss.

Lazily, they started to clean up after themselves. Panties and stockings and shoes back in place for her, and getting rid of the condom, zipping himself up, and mopping at his sweaty brow with the white kerchief in his breast pocket for him.

Almost decent, they stopped and grinned at each other, two overgrown kids who’d managed to get away with some decidedly naughty behaviour. 

“C’mon, I’ve got to go ‘empty the lizard’, as they say-” and try to wash the scent of Allison’s ‘perfume’ off his face – “and then let’s get back to the poker table. I have a _reputation_ to uphold. Cuddy should be good and wasted by now, and I can win all my money back!”

Allison laughed at him. “Yeah, good luck with that. It’s not like you get to keep any of it.”

“I get to keep _you_. That’s better,” He shot her a long, lecherous look.

“What an incurable romantic you are,” she elbowed him, then opened the door to the lounge. Walking rapidly away, she called back over her shoulder. “Last one to the poker table buys the next round of drinks!”


End file.
